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‘Tabitha…’ Aiden, slurring his words, struggled to sit up. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it now,’ Tabitha said gently. ‘Just try and sleep.’
Aiden’s squinting eyes locked on her. ‘I mean it, Tab, I’m really sorry. I’ve been thinking,’ he slurred, resting back on the pillow, ‘I should just marry you. You know that? It would solve everything.’
She felt more than saw Zavier stiffen, heard the tiniest hiss come from his lips, and knew that Zavier thought this was a proposal she had somehow engineered. Her own shock at Aiden’s suggestion for a moment put on hold, she attempted to quiet her friend. But it was too late. The words had escaped, seeping through the air like a vile vapour, compounding every last one of Zavier’s suspicions.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Tabitha attempted a light scold, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’
All Aiden could manage was a small shrug before closing his eyes again, but Zavier wanted answers. Reaching over, he shook his brother, rattling him none too gently.
‘Come on, Aiden,’ he quipped, his light voice belying the muscle pounding in his cheek. ‘That’s no way to propose to a lady.’ She saw the tiny snarl as his lips formed around the words. ‘Finish what you’ve started.’
‘It would solve everything,’ Aiden mumbled. ‘Dad would see a marriage before he dies—’ he squinted at Tabitha, who stood mortified ‘—and your gambling debts would be taken care of, darling. I know how worried you…’ He never finished his sentence, instead choosing that moment to go into a deep and rather noisy sleep.
‘I can explain…’ Tabitha started. ‘It’s not how it seems.’
Zavier flashed her a thin smile. ‘I’m sure it’s far worse.’
‘It isn’t. The gambling debts—’
He halted her with one flick of his manicured hand, his gold watch glinting in the bedside light. ‘I don’t give a damn what trouble you’re in. You, Miss Reece, don’t concern me—not one iota. But understand this.’ His voice was menacing. ‘Stay away from my brother. Marry him and I’ll expose you for what you are—a cheap, conniving gold-digger. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Oh, yes, I do,’ he hissed. Coming around the bed, he stood over her, stepping uninvited into her personal space, so close she could feel the scorn of his words on her cheek—so close, so vividly near, even the batting of his eyelids seemed to be happening in slow motion. ‘You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you? You think the Chambers family are going to be the answer to whatever mess you’ve got yourself into.’
‘I don’t.’ She was trying to defend herself, trying to form an argument, but his presence, his closeness, wasn’t just intimidating her now; it was overwhelming her, fogging her mind with dangerous images. The scent she had inhaled on the dance floor was stifling her now, conjuring recollections of their one dance, and her subconscious responded as it had when he held her. ‘I don’t,’ she said again, dragging her eyes up to meet his, trying to sound as if she meant it, trying to ignore the surge of adrenaline cascading through her body—the high alert of imminent impact.
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. Already he was wearing the dusky growth of a five o’clock shadow, and she imagined the scratch of his cheek on hers, the roughness behind his kiss. Though she hated the venom of his attack, Tabitha was curiously excited, high on adrenaline and champagne and the heady cocktail of hormones his presence haplessly triggered.
His hand moved up slowly and she stood frozen. Only the none too gentle sound of Aiden’s snoring broke the silence—only that and the pounding in her temples as he traced a finger along her white collarbone, exploring the hollows of her neck, his fingers brushing under her curls.
And she waited.
Waited for him to jerk her towards him, to expel the tension with the roughest of kisses. She licked her lips, her pink tongue bobbing out involuntarily, moistening her flesh in anticipation.
‘I might have known.’ In one harsh movement, one harsh sentence, reality invaded and his fingers flipped out the designer label on her dress. ‘Is that the going price for a date these days?’
His words confused her. Struggling to understand his meaning, she stepped back, the distance giving her a chance to collect her thoughts as the contempt in his eyes flared.
‘I sign off Aiden’s credit cards,’ he explained nastily. ‘I should have worked it out earlier. Your outfit is the only tasteful thing about you.’
‘Get out.’
‘Oh, I’m going, and in the morning, Tabitha, so are you. As far from my family as humanely possible if you know what’s good for you.’
Only when the door was safely closed, when only the heavy masculine scent of him remained, did Tabitha breathe again.
Not trusting her legs to stand, she sat on the edge of the sofa, practically trembling just at the thought of him. He was vile, loathsome, full of his own self-importance—and yet… Never had a man made such an impact on her. Those few moments on the dance floor with him had tapped rivers of passion she hadn’t even realised existed. His eyes had seemed to tear through her, his mouth, his smell…
And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it! Even if she could stretch the boundaries of truth and imagine someone as completely stunning as Zavier Chambers ever in a million years being attracted to her, she was supposed to be his brother’s gold-digging girlfriend—with a gambling problem to boot! Completely out of bounds by anyone’s standards.
Stretching out on the long sofa, she lay staring at the ceiling, almost weeping with frustration at the unfairness of it all. Even the movie channel held no attraction now. What was the point? The real thing had been in this very room only moments before!
It was only a few seconds later when she realised she’d left her bag down at the party.
Rolling on to her side, she battled with the urge to go and retrieve it—battled with the urge to return to the party and a chance of glimpsing Zavier again. It would look stupid, she reasoned. He would surely realise the motive behind it. But her reasoning, however logical, however sensible, was no match for her desire—her need to somehow finish whatever dangerous game had been started, to put him right, to draw a conclusion or open Pandora’s box.
She simply couldn’t just leave it there.
Opening the door, Tabitha made her way along the thickly carpeted corridor, her heart beating loudly, her pulse rapid and out of time with the music pounding below.
The dark, shadowy figure making its way towards her was so broad, so tall, it could only belong to one person.
A couple more steps and his face came into focus, his eyes glittering and dark, a curious look of triumph on his face.
‘Looking for this?’ He held up her bag, the splash of feminine colour an enticing contrast against such a masculine backdrop. ‘I was back down at the party and I saw it lying under the table.’
‘Thank you.’ She accepted the bag but didn’t turn back, unable to tear her eyes away from his penetrating gaze.
‘Fancy a nightcap?’
Even as Tabitha nodded her acceptance she knew he didn’t intend to take her back down to the bar, and for that moment at least she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
His room was amazingly tidy. A few heavy bottles and brushes adorned the dresser, and a half-drunk glass of whisky was on the coffee table. Tabitha noticed the ice-cubes undissolved; he hadn’t gone straight back down to the wedding after he’d left her.
His eyes followed hers to the glass; his steady voice answered the unasked question.
‘I was trying to figure out a legitimate excuse to see you again tonight. Contrary to the lecture I’ll be delivering to Aiden in the morning, sometimes the answer does come in a bottle.’ He looked at her bemused expression. ‘I was sitting here thinking about you, wondering if I could risk ringing you, then it dawned on me you didn’t have your bag…’
‘Why did you need an excuse? I mean, why did you want to see me again? Haven’t you quite finished lecturing me?’
‘Lectures over.’
Could this be happening to her? Had Zavier Chambers sat nursing his whisky filled with the same trembling desire that had overcome her as she lay on the sofa? Surely it wasn’t possible? ‘So why did you come looking for me?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
She had stared at the glass long enough. Dragging her eyes up to his, she was shocked and strangely excited to see the same blatant desire emanating from them that had turned her to liquid on the dance floor. ‘I thought you hated me.’
He shook his head slowly, deliberately. ‘It’s a rather more basic feeling you evoke in me at the moment.’
How could this be happening to her? How could someone as charismatic and overtly sexual as Zavier possibly be interested in her, possibly want her? He could have any woman he wanted. He held her gaze, pinning her with his eyes. Everything about tonight seemed surreal, as if she were caught up in some strange erotic dream.
‘Come here.’ His voice was low, his request direct.
Tabitha knew that she should have left right there and then—picked up her bag, thanked him for his help and got the hell out of there.
But she didn’t.
Tentatively she stepped towards him, drawn by an overwhelming longing that transcended all else.
She was completely out of her depth, overcome with desire. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined acting so boldly, yet Zavier imbued in her a feeling of wantonness—desires so basic, feelings so overwhelming that for now she couldn’t even begin to deal with the consequences, couldn’t contemplate anything other than what was happening right here and now. One look into his dark brooding eyes and a whole lifetime of scruples needed rewriting.
‘Dance.’
Mesmerised, she nodded, her hand reaching out for him, desperate to feel him again, to revisit the magic they had created on the dance floor. But Zavier had other ideas. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.
‘No. Dance for me.’
His eyes left hers for the briefest impatient moment, his fingers working a remote control and the room filling with the low sensual throb of bass, the straining tears of a violin. And though it moved her, though the music fuelled her, it didn’t even come close to the rush of desire that flooded her as his gaze returned.
‘I can’t.’ Her tongue flicked over dry lips. ‘I can’t,’ she said again when he didn’t answer. ‘You’ll laugh at me.’
Again he shook his head. ‘I’m not laughing, Tabitha; I want to see you dance. Dance for me like you do when you’re alone.’
He knew! Like a child caught singing into a hairbrush, she felt the sting of embarrassment. It was as if he had an open ticket to her mind, her dreams—as if he had seen her pushing back the coffee table at home, pulling the curtains and dancing as she would have if only her ambitions had been fulfilled.
It was the most ridiculous of requests, one that under absolutely any other circumstance would have been laughable. But there was no mirth in his voice, not even a note of challenge, just the thick throb of lust and a million fantasies that needed to be fulfilled, imbuing her with the confidence of a woman who could fulfil them, the empowering realisation that though it was Zavier calling the shots it was she, Tabitha, fulfilling them.
The straps on her sandals were fiddly, her hair falling forward as her shaking hands worked the tiny buckles. She was incredulous that she was even contemplating obliging him, but as the music filled the room it overtook her awkwardness, the throbbing sensual rhythm fuelling her. Slowly she slid her toes up the long length of her calf, the wraparound dress falling apart to reveal taut flexed muscles. Instinctively tightening her stomach, she felt the imaginary string that pulled dancers taller snap taut. She let the music take over, washing over her body as, like liquid silk, she moved to the beat, swaying, turning, dancing the most private of dances for the most captive of audiences. And when the music slowed, when, breathless, her body glimmering, she dared to look at him, the blaze of desire emanating from his expressive eyes took the last of her breath away.
‘Come here.’
It was the second time he had beckoned her, the second time he had summoned her, and Tabitha knew the interlude was over—knew this time when she went to him exactly how the scene would end.
Tabitha had never been promiscuous; to date her relationships had always been taken seriously. She wasn’t a woman who could be bought with meals and flowers, her heart wasn’t something to be given away lightly, but as she crossed the room, as she took that tentative step off the cliff-edge and into areas unknown, her mind was whirring, her love-life passing before her eyes in those fateful final moments before passion completely took over.
With blinding realisation she knew why she was doing this—or, more importantly, why she wanted to do this. Meals, flowers—they all made her feel wanted, feminine, sexy. Zavier Chambers had done in a few hours what most men took months to achieve. He had made her feel completely a woman.
He stood absolutely still as she crossed the room, drawing her towards him with an animal magnetism, but as she drew nearer his arms shot up, pulling her close, dragging her from her cliff-edge as if one split second was too long to be apart.
The weight of his lips on hers was explosive, hungry. She almost cried out at the impact of him against her, her lips parting as he probed her with his tongue. She could taste the lingering traces of whisky, the sharp scent of his maleness filling her senses.
His hair was thick and silken under her fingers, his thighs hard and solid as he pulled her nearer, and she could feel his arousal, urgent and solid. Pulling at her hairclips, he threw them almost angrily to the floor, his fingers spilling her Titian curls, coaxing them around her face. Pushing her head back, he let his lips explore her neck, scratching the soft skin with his chin as his sensual mouth located the flickering pulse there.
He pulled away. ‘Are you sure?’
His voice was thick, rasping, and the question was thoughtful. But she was beyond any rationale. The whys and wherefores would have to wait; for now only the moment mattered. She stood quivering, only his arms holding her up. The only thing she was sure about was that if he stopped kissing her now, stopped ravishing her, adoring her with his body, she would die with frustration. Her voice came out gasping, unsteady. ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘don’t stop.’
For the first time since their lips had met she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his pupils dilated, desire burning in every facet of his being.
‘Don’t stop,’ she urged again.
It was all the affirmation he needed to continue and, swooping her into his embrace, Zavier carried her towards the bedroom. Ripping back the smooth counter-pane, he laid her on the huge bed.
What Tabitha had expected she had no idea—for him to tear at her clothes, for her to rip at his shirt? But the animal passion that had gripped them in the lounge suite dimmed a notch, replaced instead by a sensual hum, an almost reverent admiration as he slowly pulled down her zipper, savouring each first glimpse of her exposed flesh.
Planting slow, deep kisses on her shoulders, he pulled down her straps, exploring her clavicle with his tongue. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the chiffon slipped over her breasts. Her pink nipples begged for the coolness of his tongue, flicking each taut nipple until it was swollen and aching, dancing to his probing attendance. Down ever down, he moved, across the white hollow of her stomach to the glistening silken Titian curls hiding her amber treasure box, which he opened with wonder, his tongue working its magic again, making her gasp as he brought her ever nearer to the brink of oblivion. Then, abating slightly, leaving her hovering on the brink, on the edge of the universe, he worked slowly on the delicately freckled expanse of flesh that spilled out over her sheer stockings.
With cat-like grace he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he undid his shirt, and though the music had stopped long ago his hips gyrated slowly to a beat of their own. Only his eyes were still, watching her reaction at the first glimpse of the ebony mat of hair on his chest, inking down over his flat stomach. She heard his zipper slide down, followed the plane of ebony as his trousers slid down his solid thighs, revealing the first heady glimpse of his manhood, trapped and writhing in his underwear. She reached towards him, her trembling hand aching, desperate to touch him, but Zavier shook his head, taunting her a while longer as he slowly took off the last remnants of clothing.
It was the most sensual thing she had ever witnessed, a teasing ritual that whetted her appetite. What she had expected from his lovemaking she hadn’t dared even imagine. A cool aloofness, perhaps, a distance despite their closeness? Not this teasing disrobing for her benefit, this naked display of sensuality, this sheer, delicious decadence. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, the rough hair on his thighs scratching through the silk of her stockings as he parted her legs, diving into her with such precision and force that she cried out in abandonment, her legs coiling around his waist, whilst her coral-painted nails dug into his taut buttocks.
And finally the only dance left was the dance of lovers entwined, their bodies making music of their own, dancing to a private rhythm, a jazz of harmonic idioms in tune with each other, improvising as they went. The rhythm filled them, fuelled them, spurring them on, finding out what worked, what mixed—and it all did. Every last cell in their bodies seemed to be sated with desire until she could hold back no longer. Every pulse in her body had aligned, focusing towards her very epicentre as he exploded within her. Gasping, her body throbbing, she opened her eyes. She needed to see him at this moment—see the man who had brought her to this magical place. For he was the perfection she craved, he was the ultimate fantasy, and she was living it, loving it.
To close her eyes now would only taint the dream.
‘What about Aiden?’
His question filtered through the haze, unwelcome and unexpected, the harshness in his voice such a stark contrast to the husky endearments of only moments before.
‘Tabitha?’
She heard the impatient note, the summons for an explanation. Pulling up the heavy white sheet, she tucked it around her, her eyes darting to his, reeling with shock at the contempt so visible, stunned at the change in his demeanour.
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